Look Behind You
by JantoJones
Summary: Someone is trying very hard to get a message to Illya (A Hallowee'en tale)


It had been a long, tiring day, and the last thing he needed was an unexplainable mystery. Illya Kuryakin did not believe in the supernatural. As far as he was concerned, ghosts, poltergeist and 'things that went bump in the night', could all be explained with scientific analysis. At least, that's what he was telling himself as he stared at his kitchen floor. Against any sort of logic or reason, the tea leaves he had accidently spilled, had somehow formed into the words LOOK BEHIND YOU. One or two letters Illya could have dismissed as mere coincidence, but three distinct words was harder to explain; especially when they had formed a sentence. Tentatively, he turned his head to see if there really was something behind him.

There was nothing.

Releasing the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, Illya silently chastised himself for even entertaining the idea that someone, or something, could have gotten into his apartment without his knowledge. As his mind scrambled desperately to find an explanation which could be proved with science, his thoughts we interrupted by the beeping of his communicator.

"Kuryakin," he answered vaguely, after assembling the device.

"Look behind you."

The gruff voice was instantly recognisable as that of Alexander Waverly, but the words sent a shiver down Illya's spine. Why would his boss be saying the same thing that was spelled out in tea leaves on his kitchen floor? Why would the man being saying those words at all?

"Could you repeat that please, Sir?" Illya requested, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm not sure I understood you."

Mr Waverly harrumphed loudly before repeating the phrase. The connection was cut, leaving Illya staring at his communicator with incredulity. Several seconds passed by, and the spell wasn't broken until the telephone rang. It was so loud, and unexpected in the silence, that Illya dropped his communicator in surprise.

"Get a grip, Kuryakin," he muttered to himself, as picked up the receiver.

"Hello,"

"Look behind you."

"April? Is that you?"

"Look behind you."

"What's going on?" Illya demanded. "There is nothing behind me."

The line went dead.

Despite his assertions, he glanced behind himself for a second time, only to see the same thing as before; nothing. Illya once again tried to tell himself that he wasn't spooked by things which couldn't be explained. Unfortunately, he didn't believe the lies he was trying to convince himself of. The Russian had known fear throughout his life, but at least he'd had the relative solace of knowing from where those fears stemmed. Attempting to push it from his mind, Illya turned on the radio, and swept up the spilled tea leaves. He was only half listening to light jazz track which was playing, but his ears pricked up when the dis-jockey cut into the end of the piece. Rather than the usual banter or commercial, the man was repeating the same three words, over and over again.

"Look behind you, look behind you, look behind . . ."

Illya grabbed the radio and threw it hard against the wall, where it shattered into hundreds of pieces. He hardly dared look at the scattered components, half expecting to see the dreaded words again. Thankfully, the strewn debris held no message for him. His communicator beeped for a second time and he snatched it up from the floor where he'd left it.

"Why do I have to look behind me?" he snapped. "There isn't anything there."

"What are you talking about, Mr Kuryakin?"

"Oh, sorry Sir," Illya mumbled, confused.

"Mr Solo has got himself into trouble," Waverly told him. "He was last seen going into a parking lot close to a known THRUSH nest. You are to start there and ascertain his whereabouts."

The chief gave Kuryakin the address of the parking lot, and Illya was out of his apartment within seconds. All thoughts of the words 'look behind you' were forgotten.

…

The parking lot was in darkness when Illya arrived, but he didn't want to risk using his flashlight. He didn't know how many Thrushies could be about, so was also quite pleased that the full moon was hidden behind dense clouds. There was just enough illumination coming from nearby streetlights to allow him to pick his way between the dozens of cars which were occupying the spaces.

Other than searching for evidence of Napoleon having been there, Illya had no real idea of what he was searching for. After fifteen minutes he had worked his way through about half of the parking lot.

"Look behind you."

The sound seemed to come from right in front of him, but there definitely wasn't anyone standing there. Although he hadn't heard it for almost twenty-two years, Illya would recognise his mother's voice anywhere.

"Mama?" he whispered, feeling a little foolish as he did so.

"Look behind you," the voice repeated, with a more insistent inflection.

Trying to ignore the fact his mother had never spoken a word of English in her life, Illya did as he was told and turned to look behind himself. As he did, a sudden break in the cloud caused a bright white beam of moonlight to shine down onto a brown Chrysler.

"Ya nye veryu eto," (I don't believe it)

Double checking that he was alone, Illya went over to the Chrysler and looked through the windows. There was nothing inside to indicate that the car held any significance, which left the trunk. He couldn't believe how much his hands were shaking as he worked open the trunk. The evening had been too strange for Illya, and his usual stoicism was beginning to slip. Very slowly, Illya opened the trunk.

"Napoleon!"

Solo was lying on his side, with his legs bent behind him and his wrists tied to his ankles. It would be an exceptionally painful position to be in, were he conscious. Even accounting for the moonlight, Napoleon looked far too pale, and as Illya removed the tape covering his mouth, he could see a blue tinge to his lips. With trembling fingers, Illya search for a pulse. It took a few seconds, but he finally located it, though it was very weak.

Swiftly untying Solo's limbs, Illya lifted from the trunk with a strength which belied his small stature.

….

Sitting by Napoleon's hospital bed, Illya tried to make sense of everything that had happened throughout the evening. Try as he might, he couldn't find an explanation. As he looked at his sleeping friend, who was going to make a full recovery, Illya decided not to worry about things.

"I understand the prognosis is good."

Illya jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of Mr Waverly in the room, and put his skittishness down to earlier events.

"Yes Sir," he replied. "Apparently, had he remained there another fifteen minutes, the shortness of oxygen would have been detrimental."

"Tell me Mr Kuryakin, how did you know where to find Mr Solo? His assignment was known only to him and me."

Illya stared at his boss with confusion etched on his features.

"You called me and told me had gone missing, and where he was last seen," the Russian explained.

"You are mistaken, Mr Kuryakin," the Old Man told him, with a frown. "Until you brought him in, we had no idea where Mr Solo was."

Illya looked from Mr Waverly to Napoleon and back again.

"I may need to take a week's leave, Sir. I think I've been overdoing it."


End file.
